The Chronicles of Osera: Child Of Mesendra

Prologue

Soot still hung in the air when dawn finally came.

The first rays of the sun pierced through the dense smoke that trailed from the crackling embers. The ground was covered in black and laid still with the silence of the slain.

They lay scattered with blood soaked backs from failed attempts to flee the spears and the swinging greataxe. Mothers still clutching their babes under the towering pines, their helpless fathers, farmers with no knowledge or skill with a sword. On a normal morning, the birds would have begun their sweet songs and woke the squirrels to rustle in the treetops. On this red morning, there were no birds, no squirrels to wake.

Balneir awoke to a shower of sunlight rising and falling over the bridge of his nose. He welcomed the warmth of the sun across his swollen eyelids. He breathed deep into his stomach like he was given life once again in the light. His nose was infused with the stench of ash and burning pine sap. Balneir opened his eyes to the sun and watched it dance across the bundles of green needles that swooped down from the treetops. He positioned his hand to block the bright sunlight and noticed his cracked skin from the dry air.

He shifted his weight against the tree he had slept on, slumped and sobbing, during the night. He hadn't remembered falling into sleep but was grateful it came to rid him of this harsh reality. His gray eyes barely met the ash covered face of the woman lying still in front of him, her arms still clutching a young boy who shared his same eyes. Another boy, some years older, was close by, the dirt showing evidence his body was dragged closer to Balneir's tree. Balneir sat there, eyes blank and filled with nothing but emptiness. At first, he could think of nothing. He searched for a reason to move. Then, he looked down at the wood carved pendant that laid against his chest. The symbol of Silborh, a cross that was topped with a slanted line that would eventually intersect the arm of the cross if they both continued on. Anger finally took him.

Balneir pushed himself to his feet so pathetically it would have made him appear several years older. Still grasping the side of the Evindal wood, he gazed up to the treetops. Why must I carry this with me?

Could you not have taken me like the rest of them!

"Damned brutes! If Silborh were true, he would strike you all down! All of you!" He slammed his fist against the bark of the tree. His voice seemed to be drowned out by the eerie silence of the burning village. As if, no matter how loud or hard he cursed his attackers, no one would hear. Not even the gods. The remains of his village seemed like a place Othoria no longer extended a hand to.

Balneir wiped away shedding tears with his sleeve. You will hear me. You will hear of all of them!

He knelt down beside the woman lying at his feet. With a heavy hand, he brushed away the thin coat of ash on the woman's forehead.

"I will come back for you, my love." whispering a promise and sealing it with a kiss on her forehead.

He began his journey with a heavy sigh and started toward the rubble that was left of the small village he called home. After a few steps, he started to notice the pain in his thigh and remembered the spear's blade that had pierced it. He had attempted to fight off the sickened beasts and protect his family. He had failed. The blood that ran down his leg the night before was dried now, pulling at his leg hair with every step. He clutched his thigh every time he had to maneuver over a corpse or wooden debris. Please, Aerrus' Light let it still be there!

Balneir followed the path, limping toward the large wooden building that stood as The Hall at the end of the path. The roof was seared black and had toppled inward from the fires, the stonework foundation appeared to have saved most of the structure. There was no longer a door to open, the attackers cutting it down with their axes they knew all too well how to use. Balneir stumbled inside, resting on the door frame. He was holding pressure to his wound now, new blood seeping through his fingers. He tore the threading of his shirt sleeve and tugged it off. He peered around the large room as he wrapped his leg, grunting as he tied and tucked the knot.